


What I Know

by reckleslove



Category: Pitch Perfect (Movies)
Genre: F/F, au where the sequels didnt happen bc i dont remember them at all, because im actually stupid, dont worry she aint doing any drugs i would not first try myself, party drugs mentioned, that really doesnt make me feel better about it tho tbh, this is just me trying to cope and then publishing it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-22
Updated: 2020-06-22
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:21:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24855988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reckleslove/pseuds/reckleslove
Summary: Beca let go of the doorknob. "Chloe. You shouldn't be here." A name she hadn't spoken aloud in so long. Not in this context. Not for her. It tasted orange on her tongue. Not smooth like juice, no, bitter like the petals of a sunflower. A name she had long tired of saying. Long tired of even thinking of.
Relationships: Chloe Beale/Beca Mitchell
Comments: 1
Kudos: 8





	What I Know

**Author's Note:**

> yo pals i know this is short but i dont have the attention span for long drawn out shit but i do choose my sentences on purpose so make sure to try to read between the lines and/or tuck it away as foreshadowing bc its intentional and dammit will someone appreciate me

Dust danced through the sunbeams between her window blinds as Beca nearly tripped in her rush out of her bedroom. Nearly two weeks of dirty laundry sprawled across her floor, though she hadn’t needed any of it yet. So why bother doing it? She thought to herself, satisfied with her justification. The doorbell had woken her up. At least it certainly couldn’t have been her alarm clock, as she hadn’t set it for weeks. She ducked into the bathroom to take a moment to run her fingers through her hair, brushing out the obvious bedhead to the best of her abilities.

The doorbell buzzes again; twice this time.

Her hair imperfect but better than it was, she moved on. “I’m here, hold on,” She says, not loud enough to be heard behind closed doors but she says it anyway. At the door, she pauses when she realizes it was still entirely unlocked from the night before. She opens it, pushing out any thoughts of how anyone could have walked right in.

“Oh! I didn’t realize you,” The visitor’s hand dropped to their side, gaze following downwards with it. “I didn’t think you’d be here.” Beca’s eyebrow furrowed, her grip tightened on the stainless steel doorknob. She’d had this dream countless times before but this felt too real to just be another dream. Beca curled her toes just to make sure. Nope, not a dream. “I mean,” the visitor continued, “I knew you lived here but I didn’t know you’d be here. Like, answering the door. RIght at this moment,”

“You shouldn’t be here.” Beca said before she could stop herself, before her visitor could take a breath. She had meant it, just not so harshly.

“I know, I know I just.” Beca watched as the visitor’s other hand revealed a white envelope. It’s edges have long been worn to soft corners and covered in creases and stains. “I’ve had this a while now and I’m on a layover here so I thought I’d take this time to drop it off and,” She took a deep breath. “Just take it.”

Her visitor’s hand shook so violently she couldn’t read her own name printed on the front. Something else seemed wrong with this picture before her. She didn’t want to take it. She didn’t want to read anything this girl had to say to her. It was over and done and there was nothing left.

Beca took the envelope.

Her heart beat harder but she wasn’t fooled. This was no dream. Maybe she shouldn’t have drank last night. Maybe she was still feeling the Molly. California did not party like Louisiana, after all. Maybe she could throw this paper back, slam the door, crawl right back into bed and try this all again tomorrow morning. And she would have, too, if she had been able to unstick her feet from the floor. Her head pounded as she wished the envelope could turn into an aspirin. The visitor said something but she couldn’t hear it over the blood rushing in her ears.

“Chloe,” A name she hadn’t spoken aloud in so long. Not in this context. Not for her. It tasted orange on her tongue. Not smooth like juice, no, bitter like the petals of a sunflower. A name she had long tired of saying. Long tired of even thinking of.

Chloe’s voice quivered as she began to speak, but regained some confidence as she went on. “I know, this is weird, I was kind of hoping anyone else would answer the door” She chucked. “I’ll get going now.” She took a few steps backwards, off the pathway as she added, “Sorry if I woke you up,”

Beca let go of the doorknob. “Wait,” Chloe hadn’t moved. “Do you want some coffee?”

Chloe shoved her hands into the pockets of her jacket. “Oh, I can’t.” Beca blinked. “I really need to get some sleep. Direct flight at five tomorrow.” She blinked again. “I work for Delta now,” Chloe showed off the name tag around her neck. Chloe and below it Stewardess. She smiled and turned, forgetting to say goodbye. Southern California sun beamed over Chloe’s hair shining like a halo over her. She was gone before the door shut and Beca wasted no time diving back into bed, pulling the blankets up to her chin and willing herself to forget any of that had just happened.  
When she awakes she awakes peacefully, spending nearly an hour on her phone before getting up to eat. It wasn’t until she returned to bed that night did her day begin to sour. There, on her sheets in an area lacking a blanket was the envelope with her name on it written in a familiar bubbly handwriting. There was nothing that letter could say that would change her mind. While Beca enjoyed her time with Chloe, she had no intention of returning. What was in the past stayed in the past. She opened her closet to a box full of letters and notes with the same handwriting, of tickets with faded print and pictures she hadn’t touched in so long they stuck together.

Beca thought of a million reasons not to read the letter as she flipped it open.


End file.
